


Gone Away

by halfnorn



Category: Cable and Deadpool
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comedy, Drama, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-15
Updated: 2010-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfnorn/pseuds/halfnorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After <em>Cable & Deadpool #32</em>, Wade tries very hard not to get to terms with anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone Away

[8 AM]

Wade Wilson is lying on the couch with his head thrown over the back, staring at the ceiling.

He is holding a gun. He is aiming for the television. He isn't talking.

[5 PM]

"I want six pints of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. I'm holding a gun and I got your address. You'll be full've more holes than ABC's primetime schedule. Yeah. Yes. No, not _Help Me Help You_. Did you get a look at that guy's mug? Fucking nutcracker. Yeah. And twenty six packs of beer. I don't give a shit. Just bring 'em."

He slams the phone down, thinks about Nate, pulls the cord out of the wall and throws it out the window.

  
[5:30 PM]

"Ah, Katie Couric, my little hobbit..."

"And in foreign news, today the world's newest dictator, the mutant time-traveler Nathan Summers has declared..."

He stares at the tiny picture of Nate up in the upper left corner for a minute, then changes the channel.

"Cable claims to--"

Click.

"--As such, Providence has--"

Click.

"And next on VH1: a Fleetwood Mac special!"

The doorbell rings.

"JUST LEAVE IT THERE IN FRONT OF THE DOOR!"

"But what about... er, payment, sir?"

He musters his best Terminator voice. "Leave if you want to live!"

"...Yes, sir."

He fires three rounds into the door, throws his head over the couch again and stares at the door.

_The chain will keep us together,_ the television declares. Well, fuck.

He takes out the grapple gun (when did he buy a grapple gun? it still has the price tag attached. must've stolen it during the afternoon's bender) and fires it at the door. Thirty seconds later he's pulling the plastic rings off his first sixpack. He needs a bucket.

[2 AM]

"Why d'you have to be... such a fuckin' douchebag, Nate?" he slurs, gesturing wildly at the television. "I mean... lookatyou, man. All... shiny and... arm-wavy. I bet you make Irene put WD-40 on that arm every day. I shoulda been putting WD-40 on... ... Irene. Putz. Bastard."

He opens another six pack and empties its contents into the bucket.

The kitchen phone rings. He dismembers it with his katana and throws the pieces out the window.

[8 AM]

He wakes up bleary, supporting the first onset of a major hangover. He's on his back on the floor, surrounded by plastic rings, empty beer cans and tubs of ice cream.

The sun shines in his face and he can feel every neuron firing once in salute. He groans and falls back onto the wooden plates. What the hell kind of use is a mutant healing factor anyway?

Sometimes life just sucks.

He looks at the TV. Fuck. News reruns. More gesturing and shiny arms.

"Fuck you, Nate."

Shooting the television doesn't fix anything, but at least it makes him feel better.

Wade spends the rest of the day cutting pictures of Nate out of newspapers and stealing every dartboard he can find. Then he goes down to the nearest Merc hangout and takes on the nastiest, bloodiest, dirtiest hit he can find. His mind is just white noise with Toto's _'Africa'_ playing cheerfully in the background. ("_I bless the rains down in Aaaafricaaaa... C'mon, sing it with me!_")

(32 dead, including the putz at the merc haunt who had the gall to mention Nate and his newfound morality)

When he finishes, he washes the blood off his hands at a nearby rest stop (scrubby scrub scrub), curses Nate again, sits down on the rim of the toilet seat, takes his mask off and wonders just what the hell happened. He leaves the words 'Don't give in to Hope, Hope is the Mind Killer, Hope is the little death that brings total obliteration.' scrawled a hundred times and dotted with little hearts on the cold tiles, walks down to his (stolen) car and scares the beejeezus out of the attendant in the slot next to him for shits and giggles.

Where the hope has gone, there will be nothing. Only he will remain.

Later, he calls Weasel from the car. "Buy me a new TV," he says.

"Wade? Where are you?"

"Arizona. I think."

"Wade? What the hell are you doing in Arizona at two fucking AM?"

"Dunno. Lost my time stamps. Buy me a new TV."

He throws the phone out the window. Just to make sure he isn't listening.

_And it stings  
Yeah, it stings now  
The world is so cold  
Now that you've gone away _ \--The Offspring


End file.
